Untitled
by stuffismeee
Summary: What if Harry didn't go to Hogwarts at 11, but instead stayed with the Dursleys? Would he be a different person? Would hogwarts be different?
1. Chapter 1

As Harry Potter slept in his dark dingy bedroom he was a different person. His fingers rested below his head so that his fingers just barely scraped his prominent chin, while his limbs huddled together, his knees clinging to his chest. Green eyes relaxed behind closed lids, he slept on with a ghostly ray of light cutting across his face. He hadn't looked so childlike since he was four and his Aunt had accused him of sneaking cookies.

But as rare as it was, the look vanished as Harry became aware of the incessant beep of his alarm clock. Groaning, he got up and, after putting on some jeans and a black sweatshirt, he left the house without saying goodbye to his family since they were still asleep.

Harry rummaged through his backpack until he found what he was looking for: a new box of Camels that he bought yesterday with a fake I.D. He stuck one in his mouth and then searched for a lighter, thoroughly frustrated when he couldn't find one.

"Looking for this?" said a voice to his left.

"Thanks, where'd you come from?" said Harry, taking the lighter that his friend was holding out.

"I could say the same to you. Jesus Potter, do you always wake up so early?"

"If it's so early why are you awake?"

"Dunno… felt like it I guess."

Harry looked at his friend with an incredulous look on his face. Benny never woke up early. At sixteen, Benny was a year older than Harry, and had a driver's license.

"Get in. I'll give you a ride," said Benny

"Okay," said Harry as he ground his cigarette into the road.

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Dudley Dursley was probably the most popular boy at school, being the football captain, quarterback, and Most Valuable Player (both on the football field and off). His dad, Vernon Dursley was the richest man in town, with at least ten cars and a gargantuan mansion equip with swimming pool and tennis courts. The girls fawned over his shiny, new jaguar, and his varsity letter.

Harry Potter was probably the most feared in school, with his frightening death glares, his tattered looking clothes, and his wild black hair that framed his face his completely covered his forehead. All the girls that stalked Dudley would describe him as

"Creepy" or they would have conversations such as this:

"Ohmigosh he is so… scary! I heard he almost like killed his uncle!"

"Not Mr. Dursley! He is so nice… he donated new uniforms to the cheerleading team and football team."

"Yeah I know, Mr. Dursley told me to watch out for his nephew. How could Harry Potter be so heartless?"

Harry hoped that one day he could leave the wretched neighborhood forever.

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When Harry was almost eleven, he got his first letter. It was an odd letter; the pages were thick and yellowish and all he could read was "Dear Mr. H. Potter, you have been accepted to Hogwarts school…" before his irate uncle ripped it out of his hands. Harry didn't know why, but his Uncle then decided to give him the beating of his life, just for reading a simple letter.

Then again, it was always a simple reason with Uncle Vernon. Every time he would mention something abnormal or fantastical he would receive a beating. One time Harry brought home a children's book about fairies from school and he was sore for a week. This time was the worst. No matter how hard Harry pleaded to his uncle to stop, his uncle relentlessly kept whipping him with his belt.

Tears poured down his cheeks and dribbled off his jutting chin. Only when his Aunt came home shrieking "Stop Vernon! You're going to seriously hurt him!" did he stop. Utterly spent, Harry passed out. When he woke, he was aching all over and his aunt was shoving him into the backseat of his Uncle's car. Dudley was blubbering into his pudgy arms, which had not yet been sculpted into the muscles he had now.

"I DON'T WANNA LEAVE ENGLAND! I WANT TO STAY HERE!" he screamed.

Usually when Dudley screamed like this he got his way no matter what. Not this time. Aunt Petunia just kept sobbing into her own arms and Uncle said with tight lips, "Shut up Dudley. We are going to America and that's that."

Uncle Vernon, his drill company having recently gone international and becoming a major success, was able to purchase a much bigger mansion and still work through the American head quarters of his company.

Harry stayed quiet, not knowing what to say. He hated Little Winging but had a feeling America was going to be much worse.

And it was, in some ways, at least. His Uncle hated him more, which was never a good thing, and whenever he was angry or in a bad mood, which could be as often as thrice a week, he would take it out on Harry. And on those nights, Harry wished he was still in England, ignored, and in his cupboard.

But there were other times when he loved being in America. For the first time in his life he had a friend, only one, but it was better than none at all. Benny and Harry met when Benny was thirteen and Harry was twelve. He had given Harry his first cigarette, a Marlboro stolen from his mother's secret stash. And they smoked in the morning till bus came and they had to put them out. Anything Harry wanted to know he learned from Benny, because even though his teachers despised him, he was extremely smart, though he cared little about his health; Benny did more drugs than Harry could count on his fingers.

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When Benny dropped Harry off at his house, Harry knew something was wrong; his uncle's car was never home at four p.m.

"Your teacher called," said Uncle Vernon from the study. Harry walked into the room where his uncle resided, knowing it was too late to turn back. "She said she was concerned, said she wanted to have a conference." Then he said in a dangerously low voice "what did you do, boy?"

"I don't know she's only been teaching us for a week,"

"What did you do?" Uncle Vernon repeated in an even lower voice.

"I told I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Don't you raise your voice at me, boy!" Uncle Vernon came at Harry. Harry tried to leave but to his horror, the door had locked behind him. Uncle Vernon took Harry by the collar and pushed him up to the wall. "You think you can win, huh? You'll never win, you'll always be as worthless as your no good father."

"Fuck you," said Harry in a cold voice. Uncle Vernon grew purple and slammed his fist into Harry's face. Harry saw spots before his throbbing head regained consciousness. His uncle hit him again, and this time in the gut, which made Harry keel over.

"We put your sorry little ass through school, we gave you clothes, and food, and shelter. AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY US?" shouted Uncle Vernon, saying each word with every whip of his belt. Tears leaked out of Harry's eyes; even after years of living with the Dursleys, the belt still hurt enough to make him cry. After Harry's Uncle was done, he threw down the belt and walked out of the room, leaving the study silent. Harry then walked down to his room: the storage room connected to the basement where hot water heater resided. And he let the hum of the heater lull him to sleep.

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"It was your uncle, wasn't it?" asked Benny leaning against the locker next to Harry's before their first class at school.

"What?" said Harry, pretending to be clueless.

"It was your uncle that made you look like shit, wasn't it?"

"No," said Harry curtly.

"Oh so you just decided to beat yourself up last night?"

"Just shut the fuck up."

"Man, you gotta get out of there."

"Yeah? And go where?"

"You can stay with my folks" said Benny. Harry scoffed.

"Yeah, I'm sure they'll love that, having one of your druggie friends crashing there. Besides, my uncle won't let me leave."

"So… he hates you… but he wants you to stay?" said Benny incredulously.

"Look, it's complicated." Just then the bell rang. "I've gotta go."

"Never thought I'd see the day when you would be eager to get to class," said Benny with a smirk.

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Harry groaned when he remembered which class he was going to: American Studies. In other words: Dudley's class. Harry wasn't afraid of Dudley, though he had been cornered by Dudley's gang to many times to count; he just hated Dudley with a passion.

Harry groaned again when he realized that the only seat left was in front of Dudley.

"You're late, Harry." said Ms. Hutchinson.

"So?" replied Harry with a glare. This was the teacher that had called Uncle Vernon.

"See me after class," said Ms. Hutchinson with a glare. Harry sat in his seat and proceeded to do nothing for the rest of the class.

"You're dead Potter," Dudley whispered into Harry's ear.

"Funny, I'm still breathing," replied Harry tonelessly.

"Didn't I tell you not to come near me at school?"

"I wouldn't want to."

"Well, you're too close now."

"What are you going to do about it, Dud? Tell Daddy?" Dudley's voice got even lower.

"I don't need Dad anymore." Dudley then sat back and ignored Harry for the rest of class.

When class was dismissed Harry was about to leave with the others when Ms. Hutchinson said, "Not so fast, Harry. I believe I asked you to see me after class."

"I see you. Can I go?" snapped Harry.

"Stay a while. I'll write you a pass."

"Okay…"

"May I ask where you got that lovely shiner from?"

"It was a gift from my dear friend Mildred."

Deciding to play his game Ms. Hutchinson said, "I see… and may I ask why you live your Aunt and Uncle?

"No."

"What happened to you parents, Harry?"

"Isn't this somewhere in your file of my entire life or something," asked Harry.

"I would rather hear it from you."

"They died when I was one. In a car crash. Why the fuck do you care?"

Instead of admonishing Harry, Ms. Hutchinson simply said, "I care about my students."

"That's a load of bullshit."

"Why are your eyes blue?" asked Ms. Hutchinson abruptly.

Taken aback by such a ludicrous question, Harry said, "What?"

"I mean is that your real eye color?"

"No…" said Harry slowly, "they're color contacts that my uncle makes me wear"

"Makes you?"

"Yeah, he says he says my green eyes remind him of my whore of a mother. Can I go now or are you not done interrogating me."

"Two more things," said Ms. Hutchinson

"What? What more could you possibly need to know?"

"Are you from England and can I see your forehead?"

Getting used to Ms. Hutchinson's absurd answers, Harry simply said "Yes," in exasperation and flipped his bangs up revealing his scar. Ms. Hutchinson looked like she saw a ghost. She absentmindedly wrote Harry a pass, which Harry took as he hurriedly left the classroom.

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Harry looked for Benny that afternoon but he was nowhere to be seen, so Harry decided to walk home instead. On his way, two cars full of football player pulled up to curb. The window of the familiar looking Jaguar rolled down and Dudley's head poked out.

"I told you you were dead Potter, and I never lie.

A/N: In case you're wondering why Dudley and Harry go to the same school, a lot of rich kids go to public schools in America because often times the public schools are excellent in the wealthy neighborhoods. Plus Dudley probably stayed because of the football team and his friends.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry was shaking. He wasn't afraid of Dudley, but he was afraid of ten members of the football team circling around him, pounding their fists into the palm of their hands.

"Need nine of your friends to help beat me up, Dud? I thought I was an easier target than that," said Harry, trying to feel an ounce of bravery.

"Think you're brave, huh? You wont feel so brave once we start pounding you so hard you wish you'd died in that car crash your whore of a-" Harry didn't know for sure what Dudley really meant to say, for Harry's fist had overpowered his common sense and collided with Dudley's left eye. Two varsity team members pinned his arms behind his back immediately as the rest took turns beating the crap out of him.

When they were sure Harry had no strength to stand up, they threw him to the ground and were about to leave when Dudley started to kick Harry with renewed fervor.

"What are you doing, Dud? He's had enough let's leave," said Dudley's best friend, Mike Petchinsky.

"I'll tell you when he's had enough, Mike! I want him to pay for what he did to my father. What? Are you all chickening out now?"

The rest of them, not wanting to seem like cowards, shook their heads and continued to help Dudley kick him.

As Harry lay there, barely conscious, he started to think of strawberries, and how delicious they were with Aunt Petunia's cool whip, especially when he stole sugar from the pantry and sprinkled generous amounts of sugar on them, making them more candy than fruit.

He remembered how, during the summer he moved to America, there was a farmland preserve down the street from his house which would have strawberry pickings three times a week during the season. He remembered how Mr. Richards, the caretaker of the farm, would take pity on him and allow him to pick as many strawberries that would fit in a basket as long as he stayed and talked with him while he sold his strawberries. Harry would talk about England, and how it copiously rained there and the dreams he had of his dead parents screaming before a bright green light engulfed them.

He remembered how Mr. Richards always said, "you're a good kid Harry, don't let anybody fool you about that"

Harry had no idea why he was thinking of strawberries, or Mr. Richards, or anything other than the beating he was receiving for that matter, but perhaps it was because blood was trickling over his eyelids and it reminded him of the deep red flesh of ripe strawberries, or perhaps it was because the shoe that was currently lodging itself between his ribcage and his kidneys was an interesting mix of green and red.

As he imagined strawberries forming before his very eyes, an image of a woman with strawberry red—the same red of ripe strawberries—formed before his eyes. Her skin was vanilla cool whip of the sweetest kind and her green eyes held an abundance of brightness he hadn't experienced anywhere in Britain or America. Her lips were forming words Harry couldn't make out.

_What are you saying, I can't understand… I can't understand…Please…_

Benny was stepping out of the front doors of the school thoroughly annoyed. For some reason someone had taken the time to break into his locker and throw all his stuff all over the hallway. He knew, though, who it was. This had Dudley Dursley written all over it; Dudley had always hated Benny for being friends with Harry. But pranks such as this had stopped long ago. Why then had he started again?

Benny soon knew why Dudley made him waste twenty minutes of his time picking up his notebooks off the hallway floor, for there Dudley was with nine other football players beating the crap out of Harry. Ignoring that he was only one person and that they were a group of ten beefy varsity athletes, he ran furiously to Harry, pulling out a switchblade as he neared the scene.

"Get off of him! Get off of him or I swear I'll kill you, said Benny. His face was red and his nostrils were flaring in rage. They all left; they had all heard of Benny's skill with a knife.

The woman with strawberry red hair was starting to make more sense to Harry. At first all he heard was: "Ha…ee" coming out of her lips. Then she said a bit more louder, "Har…ee." Her voice was crisp and rich at the same time, and very familiar. Harry wanted to hear more of her calming voice, but then out of her lips came a deeper, masculine voice.

"Harry… Harry! HARRY!" Harry's eyes jerked open and instead of seeing the strawberry woman all he saw was a blur of color. He snapped his eyes shut.

"No… don't go!" said Harry

"What?" said the same voice that had woken him, "Harry! Get up! We need to get you to a hospital. Damn it, where's my cell phone?"

"Benny?" said Harry, finally recognizing who it was.

"Yeah, it's me. We've gotta get you to a hospital."

"Where… where is she?"

"What?" replied Benny, utterly perplexed.

"N-Never mind. Can you take me home now?"

"Are you out of your fucking mind? You look like you've been run over by a truck!" exclaimed Benny. "We need to get you to a hospital."

"I-I don't want to go to a hospital. I… I want to pick strawberries. I want to go to Mr. Richard's farm. Take me there will you?"

"Harry?" Benny was now afraid for his friend's sanity.

"Yes, I think I'll go there now," Harry muttered to himself. He stood up slowly, wincing in pain, but then something remarkable happened. All of the stabbing pains from Harry's broken bones vanished as if they had magically healed themselves. About a quarter of his bruises were vanishing on the spot. Benny watched in awe.

"What the hell _was _that? It's like you're invincible or something," said Benny.

Harry just laughed. "Invincible—no. Relieved—yes. I don't know what happened, but sometimes when I get hurt, my body heals itself. It's very rare though. The last time this happened was… was right before we moved to America." Harry paused for a while then continued speaking, "C'mon, I was serious about the farm. I-I feel like I need to go now… it's been a while."

"Well with a face like that who could say no?" Benny said wryly.

The once plentiful crops were now cold and barren from the frost of autumn. Harry knew, of course, in his better judgment, that nothing would be there, her still wanted to go. A million things could've happened that day and Harry was sure all he would remember was the women with strawberry hair and eyes like his.

Harry watched the crops pass through the rays of the late afternoon sun; He knew that no matter how remarkable his instant healing was that day, it would never be as splendid as the taste of strawberries in the summertime. He began to crave strawberries with a deep passion, but it was fall and the only thing in harvest was gourds and pumpkins. He wanted them so much he felt hollow. Every second that passed, a rusty shovel was gouging away at his insides until he finally snapped and started pounding his fists on the dashboard of Benny's car, his head resting limply on the leather interior. Strangled noises emitted harshly from Harry's throat.

"Harry, what's the matter with you?" said Benny, though not unkindly.

"Her… She… So beautiful… Her hair… Was like… Strawberries" Harry was sobbing openly now.

"Who's beautiful? What's her name?"

"I-I don't know who she is." Harry's voice was barely a whisper.

"Harry?"

"I DON'T BLOODY KNOW WHO SHE IS!" shouted Harry, switching to an English accent.

Benny knew something was up; the English accent was back. "Let's go. I know just what you need." Benny stuck the keys back into the ignition and backed out of the frost-bitten field.

"Euch, Michelob Ultra, disgusting! C'mon where's the good stuff?" said Benny, rummaging through his parents' refrigerator. Harry looked around the pristine, white kitchen that reminded him of Aunt Petunia's obsessive cleaning habits. Benny Emerged from behind the refrigerator door.

"Jackpot! Heineken or Irish Cream? You're pick," said Benny. Harry just shrugged. "Irish Cream it is," continued Benny, "The Germans know how to brew good beer, but it's the Irish that really know how to get someone drunk. And Harry, no offense man, but you need to get drunk." Harry laughed and they both headed to the corner of the backyard where it was safe to drink without getting caught.

They walked with their backs to the setting sun, their shadows elongated in front of their bodies. Golden light stained the white picket fence that surrounded Benny's backyard and beckoned them to their drinking corner. They sat behind two bushes with their backs leaning against the fence. Benny tossed a bottle to Harry and took a long sip from his own.

"Did you ever see someone and feel like you should know them," asked Harry. He took a deep draught from his beer, the deep brown liquid streaming from the sides of his mouth. The sun was no longer as blinding bright as it had been when he was cornered by Dudley's gang, but was now golden and inviting. The pink sky was slowly sinking, and a canvas of smoky blue stretched before their eyes, setting deep shadows into their surroundings.

Benny answered after a long while, "No, I can't say I have. Why? Recognize that chick from somewhere?"

"No… Yes. When I was little and the Dursleys were… well being themselves and while I was sitting in my dark little closet under the stairs, I'd sing this little song to myself."

"What song was it?"

"I dunno but I knew it. Somehow I knew it. It felt so comforting and helped me feel better, you know. I mean none of the Dursleys ever sung to me, but it was like I knew it from a long time ago. And when I was thinking of the red haired woman, I couldn't help but remember this song." Harry remained silent for a while. Then he began to sing in a soft cracking voice.

_  
If you close the door  
the night could last forever  
Leave the sunshine out  
and say hello to never_

All the people are dancing  
and they're having such fun  
I wish it could happen to me

But if you close the door  
I'd never have to see the day again

If you close the door  
the night could last forever  
Leave the wine-glass out  
and drink a toast to never

Oh, someday I know  
someone will look into my eyes  
And say hello  
you're my very special one

But if you close the door  
I'd never have to see the day again

Dark party bars, shiny Cadillac cars  
and the people on subways and trains  
Looking gray in the rain, as they stand disarrayed  
oh, but people look well in the dark

And if you close the door  
the night could last forever  
Leave the sunshine out  
and say hello to never

All the people are dancing  
and they're having such fun  
I wish it could happen to me

Cause if you close the door  
I'd never have to see the day again  
I'd never have to see the day again  
I'd never have to see the day again

(A/N: don't ask me how Harry knows the entire lyrics…. He just does! I just love this song too much to only put a verse)

Benny took another swig and said, "I know that song."

"What?" said Harry.

"It's by the Velvet Underground. It's a band from your parent's time. Late 60's I think."

"I think she may have sung it to me when I was little or something. SO why can't I remember?

"Don' worry about it. What you need to do is drink like crazy and forget this ever happened."

"Okay," said Harry, raising his bottle to take a deep sip, the last remains of the sun's rays reflecting off the glass.

That night Harry lay in his bed starring at the wooden beams that crisscrossed under the unfinished storage room ceiling. He thought about what Benny said about leaving. _Maybe he's right,_ thought Harry, _maybe it's time I leave. _Thoughts of a new life raced through his mind. When he turned sixteen, hopefully he would look old enough to pass as an adult, and he could run away and live with Benny and his friends that graduated last year and live with them in New York City. He could get a job somewhere, bussing tables, or lugging cargo. It wouldn't be a good life but at least it would be _his_ life.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted as the doorbell rang, and a scream echoed throughout the house.


End file.
